


Not Alone

by DAfan7711



Series: Dragon Age - Short stories, Vignettes [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Clothed Sex, Comfort Sex, Dragon Age: Inquisition scouts, F/M, King Alistair Theirin, Quickies, Redcliffe, Redcliffe Castle, Redcliffe throne room, Scout Radella - Freeform, Short One Shot, Vaginal Sex, casual fuck with the hot king, hot hard fuck with a stranger in a public place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/pseuds/DAfan7711
Summary: King Alistair finds someone happy to ease his loneliness at Redcliffe Castle.





	Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW.
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta reader for this one shot, [Ray_Murata](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_Murata/pseuds/Ray_Murata).

Alistair stared at the dying flames in the hearth of Teagan’s Redcliffe throne room. The Inquisitor and Fiona had left ten minutes earlier and his guards were almost done helping Leliana’s scouts clear out the last of the Venatori’s possessions. The hushed bustle behind him was comforting, and could continue all night, for all he cared; once they were done, he’d be alone with the whispers. The nightmares.

“Good night, Lace,” the friendly, melodic Fereldan voice was unknown to him, but stirred a yearning in his chest just the same. He turned and watched a human Inquisition scout wave farewell to a dwarf who was headed out the door. The woman was filling a wooden crate with spell books and parchment. A few seconds more, and she’d be gone.

“Done already?” he asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Good night.” She reached for the full crate.

“Wait.” His heart pounded in his ears, insisting he fill the silent room with words instead of loneliness.

“Yes, Sire?” Her half-smile was one of kind, polite interest. A dim white light illuminated the open door at the other end of the throne room. They stood in a little circle of warm orange firelight. The room’s inner darkness swallowed the area beyond it.

“Alistair,” he said. “My name is Alistair.”

“Alistair,” she repeated, her smile growing to reveal a sexy dimple in her cheek. She tilted her head, the brown hair in her bun looking honey-gold in the firelight. “Radella.”

“Radella.” Her name rolled across his tongue like a tangy wine with a sweet aftertaste.

“May I kiss you?” He blinked in surprise at his own boldness. He’d meant to start a friendly conversation, not accost one of Leliana’s people.

Her amused laugh was more air than sound, but her smile softened sweetly when she saw he was serious. Instead of stepping closer, she outstretched her arm for him to bow down and kiss her hand.

His fingers fit perfectly under her palm, and when he straightened, he kept a gentle hold on her hand, massaging her knuckles with his thumb. He searched her bold gaze, found a heat there that made his loins stir.

He watched her watch him as he slowly raised and turned their joined hands so he could place an open-mouthed kiss along the sensitive flesh under her wrist.

Her aroused hitch of breath sent a fresh spark of lust coursing through him. He ran his tongue along her pounding pulse, suckled some more, watching the fire burn brighter in her eyes.

When he lightly scraped his teeth along the underside of her wrist, she lurched forward, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling their hands down to free his mouth for a desperate kiss. Her lips demanded and took, urging his to do the same. Their tongues thrust and wrapped along one another.

She stepped backward, dragging him along with more kisses, until her back hit the nearest stone column. She dragged him close, wrapped a leg around him, grinding their hips together, rubbing against his hard cock, tearing her name from his breathless throat.

“Radella!”

She buried her face in his neck, stilled her hips. “I’m clean, and the timing’s right, if you want to do this.”

“Yes,” he groaned against her ear. “I’m in the clear.” Nearly ten years in the clear. Memories just weren’t enough anymore. Breath and flesh, heat and want. Another _person_ to hold him.

She whispered his name against his mouth over and over again between short, heady kisses that tantalized his swollen lips. He clutched at her hips and she still held his neck, as she deftly unlaced his breeches and unbuckled her trousers, baring her thighs and releasing his cock, thick, upright, and weeping.

The scent of her arousal came to him like an exotic spice on a summer wind. Maker, he hoped he smelled half that good.

She squirmed against him, lowering her hand to lead him between her legs with confident, deft fingers. But the tremor in her voice betrayed her desperation. “Now, Alistair. Now, oh, please, right now.”

She cried out in pleasure, head thrown back as be plunged into her wet heat. Maker, she was hot and pulsing already. His thrusts were hard, quickened by her own writhing and pleas for more. He reached between them to rub her clit rough and fast. He was so close with so little prompting; he didn’t want to leave her behind.

“Alistair,” she spoke his name like a prayer as she clenched around him, cresting over the top of her molten wave, shattering. She kept her hips pistoning, wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders, and whispered in his ear, “Come for me, my Prince.”

He came with a cry that echoed through the throne room and down the empty hall. She fluttered around his cock, milking him with her powerful muscles and rolling hips, letting him fall slowly.

When his hips finally stilled, he panted heavily over her shoulder, mind blank, his hot forehead resting against the cool stone of the column behind her. She hummed her approval against his neck, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and gently cleaned his softening dick.

“You are a fool, Alistair,” Morrigan stepped from the darkness, scowling. “Using a woman in _her_ stead. ‘Tis a dishonor to her memory.”

He blinked and she was gone.

It was just his overtired mind bringing old fears to life. He hadn’t really heard the witch’s voice since the eve of The Battle of Denerim.

“Alistair,” Radella gently touched his cheek, turned his face back to look at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding automatically, but he was still unsettled.

Her genteel smile was kind. “It’s okay, you know, if you’re thinking of someone else. I don’t mind.”

“I—”

“Shh,” she traced his lips with her thumb. “It’s okay.” She placed a slow, tender kiss low on his cheek, just shy of his mouth. “Sleep well.”

She picked up her crate of books and made for the door.

“Radella?” he called after her.

“Yes?”

“Is there room in your tent for another bedroll? I don’t really want to sleep in Teagan’s room tonight.”

She smiled, set her crate down by the door, and held out her hand in invitation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Want more Inquisition? Check out [The Amatus and the Altus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10703433/chapters/23708493) or [my other stories](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/works).
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://dafan7711.tumblr.com/) for more on gaming and writing. Features include Dragon Age, Mass Effect, and [Write it Wednesday](https://dafan7711.tumblr.com/tagged/Write-it-Wednesday).


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